Does the rain follow her?
by PsychoDramaQueen
Summary: Our favourite head nurse has made a a late night trip to the best small town in the world to visit the man who has haunted her ever since she returned from Korea. Will she actually ring that doorbell this time?
1. Does the rain follow her?

_Any characters of MASH are not mine, they're Fox's sadly. If I owned them, a particular blonde haired vixen and raven-haired sex god would've used their smarts and combined their awesome powers to officially form HM._

_"Margaret's pregnant." _

_These were the two words that Hawkeye Pierce greeted his best friend BJ Hunnicutt with during their first conversation in six weeks. It was three in the morning and Hawkeye was standing in his kitchen, a phone gripped in his hands so tightly he was sure the mouth piece was imprinted on his skin. _

_"Nice to talk to you too Hawk" BJ yawned. _

_"Margaret's pregnant Beej" Hawkeye repeated._

_"That's nice for her Hawk, is that the only reason you called me at three in the morning?" BJ asked. _

"_She's pregnant….I didn't even know she was married!" came the distracted response. _

"_Ok Hawkeye, do me a favour. Find yourself a bench or seat and sit down for a moment. Then slow down and begin at the beginning. What are you talking about?" BJ asked, exasperated. Hawkeye did as he was told and also took a few deep breaths. _

"_Ok, now tell me what's happening Hawk?" BJ said, soothingly. _

"_Margaret' pregnant Beej…and she's here"_

///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\

The rain poured down the windshield of the car and Margaret Houlihan-Penobscott wondered if she had some sort of force that made the rain follow her. Blue skies and a few clouds had been predicted, but as she looked out the window she could see that the thunder and lightening had eradicated all hopes of that. Sighing, she rested her head on the steering wheel, what was she doing here?

She had woken in the middle of the night, thrown her clothes into a suitcase and fled. She didn't know why, she'd thought about doing this every single night since she had stepped off that plane and onto American soil…no, scratch that. She'd imagined coming here ever since that amazing kiss they'd shared, the last time they saw each other.

It had been three minutes past midnight, she'd been emersed in yet another nightmare, watching the blood drip from yet another faceless being who she knew to be no older then eighteen. She'd been listening to bombs fall and hit the ground three feet in front of her, and she'd been watching _him_. In the centre of it all her stood, dressed in his white scrubs, stained red with blood, tears in his eyes and hands out stretched towards her. The last she thing remembered before her own screams ripped her from sleep, was watching him take a step towards her, one hand reaching towards her, the other pressed against a new wound in his belly, begging for her help. The neon red numbers of her alarm clock were burned into her eyes, almost the same colour as his blood…

She'd snuck out while Donald was sleeping, gathering what little possessions she owned and throwing them into her piece of junk car, then she sped off towards this little piece of heaven masquerading as a town. Although she still couldn't comprehend why, she was compelled to, and seeing as she had up until recently been void of all feeling, she had decided to follow her gut instinct.

So here she was, sitting in her rusted hunk of junk, otherwise known as a car, outside his house. Smiling cynically, she marvelled at it. Everything it should be, it was just how she'd pictured it would be. A wrap around veranda, picture windows and a white picket fence, there was a swing hanging on the front porch. He even lived with his father, the epitome of a small town boy. Well rooted, proud lineage, everything she didn't have…everything she wanted the child steadily growing in her womb to have.

Only once before had she looked upon this house, five or so months ago, a week before she'd shown up on her present husband's doorstep. It was the one moment of weakness that had set of a chain reaction of weakness; at least it was in her mind. She'd sat here, in this very car, watching the rain drip down the windshield, convinced as she was now that she was the embodiment of a perpetual rain dance, attempting to gain enough courage to get herself out of this god forsaken junk heap and ring the doorbell. She couldn't do it then and she was even less sure now. While she knew he had the right to know that in approximately three months he was going to be a father, she was not willing to risk his breaking her heart above all else. She'd spent hours trying to rationalise the best way to approach this, but her own doubts and inability to deal with yet another man walking all over her heart had always won out. Frank Burns, Donald Penobscot, Scully, endless generals and army men…each of which she had thought particularly special at one time or another, but all proved to be a waste of time. She could not, would not, let _him_ turn out to be just another nick in her heart and she refused to be regarded as another notch on his belt, a prominent one, but a notch nonetheless.

Taking a deep breath she opened the car door; one step at a time, this was much further then she had gotten previously. With each plodding step she wished she could take two back. His door loomed ahead of her, an ominous reminder that just behind the veneered wood resided her greatest fear. Once again doubts surfaced in her mind, dread that he would turn her away in disgust, he would refuse to recognise her and the baby. Then there were the fears that he wouldn't turn her away, he would take her in, being a relationship with her, but only out of guilt. She did not want to be an obligation; she loved him, she didn't want for him to hate her and, subsequently, the child. Each step echoed through her head, like the beat of a bass drum. Swallowing she found herself standing at the front door faster then she would've liked. Raising a hand she knocked three times, each sounding louder then the last. Her heart slammed against her chest as she waited, causing her head to throb and all other sounds to obliterated as a result. Rain plastered her hair to her face and her clothes to her skin. She could feel the droplets running down her shoulders blades and mixing with the cold sweat that had broken out despite the chilly weather.

After what seemed like double a lifetime, she heard foot steps approaching from inside. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself. The door creaked open slowly and a sliver of light slowly grew to reveal him. Her heart stopped for a beat; she had forgotten how handsome he was. His charcoal hair, with one or two more grey hairs then she had remembered, his customary smile, which vanished from his face when he recognised her. "Margaret?" he choked out, a look of complete shock etched on his features. "Hello" she breathed. That was all it took and that customary smile spread across his face. One thought, and one thought only, crossed her mind; her memory had not done his eyes justice. Those velvety blue that could not be described in words, those eyes that lit up a room and caused her heart to flutter. She was struck dumb again and just stood there before him. "Margaret, what a pleasure it is to see you. Do you want to come in?" he asked awkwardly and she couldn't help but smile. Here he was, the man she had wished for years would just shut up, unsure of what to say. He had always been at ease, almost the embodiment of a smooth, dry martini, his favourite drink. Shaking her head she looked at her feet, "Margaret, what is it?" he asked. Slowly she levelled her gaze with his, it was now or never, "Hawkeye, I'm pregnant." Time stopped…..

_Sorry my lovelies for two things. Firstly: For taking this long to update, I've been busy and had a slight writer's block, wherein I had no idea how to continue this story. Secondly: For leaving you hanging like that. So tell me what you think, come on press that little purple button and review, review, review. _


	2. Time stopped

_Thank you Major-Baby, RoseLight, HM4077, gigletrig, funwriter777, Kilikina1 for your reviews, they were the first I read and I did so on the 12th of November, my birthday, so that was one of the best birthday presents ever. Thanks for the kind and encouraging words. Well to get on with it, as I have said before the MASH characters are not mine, sadly far from it, they're FOX's. _

_Slowly she levelled her gaze with his; it was now or never, "Hawkeye, I'm pregnant." Time stopped..._

///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\

Benjamin Franklin Pierce sat on his bed, staring out the window at the moon shrouded backyard and contemplated for the thousandth time what had just happened. She'd just turned up on his doorstep, out of the blue. He didn't know who he'd been expecting, but it wasn't her. He remembered opening the door slowly, briefly wondering who would be calling that late at night, and greeting her in his most cheery nature. He also remembered how his throat had dried up at the sight of her. His stomach had performed a double back flip and it felt as if someone had reached inside him and given his heart a quick turn for good measure.

Margaret Houlihan, the woman who had been haunting his mind ever since his lips had touched hers in that amazing kiss back in Korea. Her hair was a little more silvery then he remembered and there were dark bags under her eyes, he was so enthralled and put off guard by her presence he didn't even notice that she had gained a bit more girth. He had to fight the urge t reach out and touch her, to make sure she was real. For one of the first times in his life, he was at a loss of what to say. This woman, who had been walking through his mind near on six months now, was right there, standing before him. Reeling, he asked her inside and admitted that it was nice to see her, but she shook her head at his invitation and wouldn't budge. It was raining outside and her hair was plastered to her cheeks, her clothes clung to her curvaceous form. If he weren't struck dumb by shock, he would've made some sort of suggestive comment. Instead he opted to ask her what was wrong. It was at that precise moment that his world decided to crash down around him, it was if the archetypal grand piano chose that moment to land precisely on his salt and peppered charcoal head.

"Hawkeye, I'm pregnant."

Time stopped.

What did that mean? She was pregnant, so what? Why was she telling him? Was that why she'd driven all the way here? To tell him some other man had done him the pleasure of knocking her up? These, and several thousand more, questions ran through his head in the space of about ten seconds. Swallowing hard her ushered her in, unable to speak in anything other then stunned grunts. Leading her into the living room, he pointed to a spare arm chair and flopped down onto the couch opposite her. They sat in silence a moment, until he a finger and seemed to be thinking out something to say. Nothing came out, so he dropped his hand. Margaret leant forward, but didn't speak either. Finally he couldn't help it, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"Are you married?"

It wasn't exactly what she was hoping for, he could tell. He didn't want to hurt her, he was just…dumb founded. She nodded silently.

"Who's the lucky guy?" he asked. Her cheeks turned a healthy shade of red and she dropped her gaze to her lap.

"Well, do I know him?" he asked.

"Maybe" she croaked, speaking for the first time since her incredible admission.

"Well?" he prompted, but her response was mumbled.

"Margaret?"

"Lt. Colonel Donald Penobscot" she whispered timidly. Hawkeye muttered a few choice words then and proceeded to knock the closest vase over. Staring at the shattered remains a thought struck him, what had happened to his Margaret Houlihan? Where was the woman he knew in Korea? He didn't know the woman seated before him, with her meek nature and hesitant characteristics. The Margaret he knew was fiery and empowered, she wasn't Hotlips or Major Houlihan, and she definitely wasn't this shadow before him. That's what she had become, a shadow of her old self, a mere ghost of the woman he had come to know in every which way possible.

Slowly coming back to his senses, he lifted his gaze to meet hers and blanched at the sight before him. He'd been a doctor for the longest time he could remember and had delivered many a baby and nursed several mothers through their pregnancies, yet he had never seen one who looked as empty as Margaret Penobscot nee Houlihan. Her gaze was devoid of light and fire, something he was quite accustomed to her having an abundance of.

"Why are you here Margaret?" he asked resignedly. Her eyes flickered at the sound of her name and for a moment he saw the passion that she used to emanate flash across her face.

"I needed to come" she whispered.

"But why?"

"I woke up yesterday morning and for the first time in a long time I felt something. I woke up and I knew I had to come here. That's all I knew; I just had to come." The speech would be impassioned, quite moving, if it weren't for the fact her voice had become monotonous, as if rusty due to lack of use. She had become bland, something he never thought he'd call her. Sighing, he nodded and slowly stood. He offered her his hand and helped her up. Leading her down the hall he offered her a room. He'd try to get some real sense out of her in the morning, there was no chance of that now. As she closed the door behind herself, after thanking him and borrowing some night clothes, Hawkeye breathed a melancholy sigh.

"What happened to you Margaret Houlihan?"

_Sorry it took so long to get this out there to you guys, but I've just been studying for exams and organising end of year events etc. Now that school's all done fore the year I have plenty of time to update and post, so hopefully it won't take me so long next time. Oh well, thanks for the reviews they were great pressies. _


	3. Crashing waves waken even the most tired

_Okay guys, sorry this took so long to update, but I've been away for a few weeks and I haven't had time to update. I've also been rather lazy…sorry, but this year is my final year of school and it's going to be my hardest, I'm just trying to get in as much rest as possible...which is why I'm writing this at six minutes past one in the morning..._

_Anyway, more importantly, I'd like to thank you all for reviews, they've been lover-ly. Oh, before I pick up from where I left off, if you have an queries as to why Margaret married Donald Penobscott again, take a gander at my fic 'Lie in the bed she made', it'll explain everything. It's not a vital read, I will touch on her reasons again in this story, but it goes into her frame of mind in much more detail, anyway, I'm going on and on, away with chapter three!_

_Oh, these characters (except for Margaret's forth coming baby), and consequently MASH, are not mine, so on and so forth..._

A wave breaking gently on the far off shore was the unfamiliar sound that roused Margaret Penobscott from her fitful sleep. She rolled over for what seemed like the hundredth time in the otherwise comfortable bed and tried to drown out the rhythmic sounds with her pillow. The strong will to sleep well into the day was out of character for Margaret, but ever since raging hormones and the small child that inhabited her body had taken over, her old movements had ceased. She was a product of her pregnancy.

Tangled in her sheets and buried under a pile of pillows, she did not hear the knock on her door and thus was surprised by the rude awakening. A rough shaking disrupted her mission to sleep once again and, crying out with a half strangled moan she sat up, hair on end and eyes blazing.

"_What _do you think you are doing?!" she cried.

A sheepish Hawkeye Pierce greeted her, hands clasped behind his back, head down.

"Good morning Miss _Mah_-garet" he mumbled. Underneath his apologetic nature he was jumping for joy, this was more like the Margaret he knew.

"And how are we this morning? Are we at all interested in the idea of…I'd say brunch by now. As your well attuned nostrils will tell you, there happens to be a lovely plate of bacon and eggs awaiting you below" he bowed low, impersonating a nasally butler.

Margaret seemed to consider it for a moment, even taking a moment to breath in the heady aroma that was rising from the Pierce kitchen, but as soon as the delicious scent reached her nose, she was over come with a bout of morning sickness. Diving past Hawkeye, he only managed to see a streak of blonde hair, she slammed the toilet door quickly before a symphony of wretches filled the corridor.

"Oh, the wonders of pregnancy" Hawkeye said, rather bemused.

///\///\///\///\///\///\///\

As she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, Margaret was hit with the realisation of what was happening. She was in Benjamin Franklin Pierce' house. She has finally done it; she had gained the courage to see him again after all these years…now all she had to do was tell him the foetus growing daily in her womb was actually fathered by his roguishly handsome self.

Another spell of nausea hit her and she sat down heavily on the toilet seat.

"What have you done Margaret Houlihan? What have you done?" Yes, legally speaking, she was no longer Margaret Houlihan, on paper she was to be known as Margaret J. Penobscott. That was the fate she assigned herself to, the marriage she bound herself to, but one that in her heart she had never even considered real. Her union of convenience with one Donald Penobscott was a thinly veiled attempt at doing the proper thing.

Thinking about it now, she had everything that she'd ever dreamed of during her time in Korea. She had her army husband, a Lt. Colonel no less, she had her white washed house with a picket fence, albeit a rickety, dilapidated one and soon she would have her first 1.0 of what she was sure would soon be her 2.5 kids. That is, if she didn't do something to combat that lifestyle and soon. Yes, she had everything she had ever dreamed of, but she had come to realise one thing was missing, a rather vital part of her dream life; one dream husband.

Hawkeye Pierce, one man that was about as far from prime husband material as humanly possible. It was a laugh to say he'd be the perfect lover, let alone the husband, but he was the man Margaret wanted, and this former Major had the slight habit of getting what she wanted. Margaret may have become the mere shadow of herself, as she was sure those around her had noticed, but underneath her careless demeanour and insipid manner, there still beat the heart of a passionate, strong willed woman. The complex woman who had once been turned down by a young Scully, because she was apparently too much to handle, was beating away at the cage that had entombed her, clawing to get out. She wanted Benjamin Franklin Pierce in their child's life and she wasn't taking no as an answer.

The only problem with her take no prisoner's plan was the immense fear that had plagued her since her current husband broke her heart for the first time. Hawkeye was no different from all the others, yes he meant a hell of a lot more, but he was just as well schooled in ripping her heart out and stomping all over it. She'd been hurt once by him before and she wasn't sure if she could handle it again. She remembered their night together in that ramshackle hut, surrounded by enemy troops, the falling shells sounding like one constant roll of thunder. She had fallen into his arms for he first time that night; it wasn't the last, but compared to every other moment they'd shared, that was the one she held closest to her heart.When she loved him that night, she loved him with all the heart she had; newly jilted by Donald at the time, she was seeking warm arms and she thought he was offering her even more. Jumping at the opportunity, she was the first to admit that she may have gone more then a little overboard, but she would also admit it was the last time she wore her heart on her sleeve around him.

Benjamin Franklin Pierce had made it into her pants, something she'd been more then careful to fight against previously, and as soon as the sun had risen, he was jumping away from her outstretched arms. He'd hurt her that day and she was not quick to forget the pain.

Sighing, she breathed in deeply through her nose. The morning sickness had passed for now and a fresh craving for bacon and eggs overtook her body. The baby gave an insistent kick for measure and Margaret smiled, rubbing her hand over her rounded belly.

"Just like your father, stubborn and adamant to the end" she laughed, then stopped suddenly, feeling anxious.

"Whadda ya think kiddo? Should we tell him? Should we let the crazy one know our real story? Or should we just get out of here and head off on our own….because I'm sure as hell not going back to Donald" she murmured.

"Well-?" she prompted, nudging her stomach, the baby kicked back and a loud knock on the door made her jump.

"Margaret? Are you alright in there or has the toilet swallowed you whole?" Hawkeye called from outside, a small measure of concern evident in his voice.

"You're not pulling a Frank Burns and rigging my toilet seat to rise at attention are you?" he quipped as she rolled her eyes.

"No!" she yelled back, standing up and moving towards the door.

"For as long as I knew Frank, I will never understand his wish to militarise latrines" she smiled as she pulled open the door to reveal a clean pressed Hawkeye. He stood before her, all six foot of him, dressed in a navy blue sweater and jeans, a clean pair of sneakers on, resting on hand on the door frame, the other slipped causally in his pocket. It took her a moment to regain her composure at the sight of him and he grinned roguishly at her shock.

"Yes Margaret, I can actually clean and press my own clothes. The Benjamin Pierce you knew in Korea is but a mere, distant memory. I am now officially, re-house trained" he tipped an imaginary hat at her.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, sceptically.

"Yeah. Just wait to you taste my cooking" he countered.

"_You_ cook?" she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

"Yes, as a matter of fact he does. He was so malnourished when he got home from Korea that I taught him everything he knows just so he would look like his old self again" came an almost identical voice to Hawkeye's. Margaret turned and her gaze fell on a man who looked just like the doctor, only a good twenty five years older. He even had the same grin and sparkle in his eye.

"I'm Daniel Pierce, father of the swamp rat here. I don't believe we've been introduced" he smiled, extending his hand.

_Not really a cliff hanger in hindsight, but it'll do as an ending for this chapter. Until next time, adieu my crazy darlings. _


	4. Bacon and presence

_Sorry this took so damn long, I guess I'm just lazy. Also, this chapter is a little jolty, it just sort o came out of left field and then proceeded to flow out of my fingers. Oh well, thanks for all the reviews and the constructive criticism, it always helps budding writers such as myself and away with the tale I have thus far spun…_

_Oh, MASH isn't mine…duh!_

"_I'm Daniel Pierce, father of the swamp rat here. I don't believe we've been introduced" he smiled, extending his hand. _

Margaret was dumb struck, she couldn't understand why, but for a few long moments, she couldn't find her voice.

"Uh-I'm Margaret Hou-Penob…..Houlihan" she finally settled on her maiden name, extending her hand. Her stomach fluttered as the slightly calloused hand enveloped hers and gave it a firm shake. The Pierce patriarch was man to marvel at. He was at least a half a foot shorter then his son, but he had such a presence he seemed to fill the entire hallway and tower over Margaret.

"Margaret Houlihan? From Ben's 4077th family? Oh, I should've known. Ben's told me all about you" Daniel smiled cordially and let go of the stunned woman's hand.

"Me?" Margaret croaked, resting her hand on her stomach and feeling the baby move below the skin. Maybe it was because she was still slightly enthralled by the fact that the father of her child was currently standing beside her or that the man with his identical laugh had eyes that seemed to pierce right through her (no pun intended). Despite his warm welcoming, Margaret had the unnerving feeling that Daniel was more clued in to her reasons for visiting their home then his son.

"Yes, all the time, and I must say he has done you justice. You are definitely as beautiful as he described" Daniel's eyes sparkled and Hawkeye's cheeks reddened a little at his father's admission. Clearing his throat, Hawkeye rolled his eyes.

"Dad, you've only just met her and you're already playing it smooth"

"Ah, so the apple really doesn't fall that far from the tree does it?" Margaret found herself joking.

"I like this one Hawk, she's got spunk" Daniel nudged his son, "She's definitely a keeper."

"Okay Dad, that's enough. I think I hear the bacon calling you" Hawkeye said in a long suffering tone of voice. He pushed his father away, towards the stairs.

"I must talk to you later Margaret, I'm sure there are a thousand stories you can share with me about this troublesome son of mine, oh and in return I can show you the vast number of photos I have of his naked caboose when he was just a whippersnapper" Daniel teased.

"Bye, Dad" Hawkeye gave the man one more insistent nudge.

"Bye, Margaret!" the elder man called on his way down the stairs.

"Until next time Mr. Pierce!" she called down to him. Hawkeye turned on his heel to face her from his place at the top of the stairs.

"Well that was only a little embarrassing" he sighed and shook his head. Margaret smiled and nodded. She couldn't believe she was being so outwardly jovial, just a little below the surface she was desperately fighting down a serious amount of terror at the prospect of being left alone with Hawkeye Pierce. This terror had risen because of several factors; namely, he was the father of her unborn child and she had yet to tell him, once he found out the truth, his playful demeanour could go either way.

Another reason, one that she was reluctant to admit, was that she couldn't trust herself around him, just one of his wicked grins, a wink, and she was putty in his hands. Her pregnancy was example enough for this. She remembered all the times he'd offered the other half of his bed up to her and all the times she'd vehemently turned him down. She could remember one time in particular, when the entire camp had been struck down with the flu expect for the two of them and a few corp. men. The casualties had rolled in of course and they'd just managed to handle it, she'd even performed a few simple procedures herself. The one memory that had stuck out in her mind though was when she had entered their 'Swamp,' as he'd lovingly named their tent, searching for Frank Burns' bible. Hawkeye had been lying there, reading on his bed. As soon as she entered, he'd thrown down the sheets and propositioned her, of course she'd turned him down; she had thought she loved Frank then, but for the first time ever, she had considered his offer. It had almost made her laugh out loud, the thought of his reaction if she'd ever actually agreed to jump into the sack with him then and there. Yes, she'd clearly agreed to on later occasions, but most of their trysts had been initiated by him and if she ever did show interest herself, it seemed to unnerve him. That day, if she'd jumped into bed with him, she was sure he'd jump right out the other side. She was sure he would, but she never knew why.

Shaking her head of the memories that were bogging her down, she looked up into those velvety blue eyes and swallowed. She had to tell him, she just had to, but how. Opening her mouth slowly, she contemplating telling him right then and there, just blurting it out and seeing where her chips fell. Of course being the well adjusted man he was, he didn't see the signs in her face that what was about to say was vitally important and cut her off.

"Well Major, I believe the breakfast is ready. May I escort you downstairs?" he asked politely.

"_Mmm_-Yes" she nodded, suppressing her annoyance at his interruption. He held out his crooked elbow and she slipped her arm through it, leaning on him as she waddled down the precarious stairs. When they reached the bottom floor she marvelled at the beauty of the old house. In all her haste to see him last night, she had not stopped to admire the house. The hallway floorboards were so clean she could almost see her reflection in it and the creamy walls were crisp and fresh, and almost covered in hundreds of family photos. Letting go of her escort's arm, she examined the many pictures.

Hawkeye watched her in mild amusement. Her serious attitude as she gazed into the captured moments of his past almost had him in peals of laughter, but he held back and just watched her and she moved along the timeline.

"You always were a gangly thing weren't you Pierce?" she mumbled to herself and Hawkeye rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth the quip something back, but she spoke before he had the chance.

"Is this your mother? She was beautiful. You look a lot like her" she murmured, stopping in front of her picture. The woman with dark hair and dark doe-like eyes stared back at her; she was clearly the benefactor of Hawkeye's Italian features. She held her arms around her own waist in a motherly way and Margaret noted that she was pregnant. Just like her husband, she was small, but she also possessed a great amount of presence. In her state of pregnancy, she just seemed to glow, even in the sepia photograph. It was a photo that had pained Hawkeye to look at for a long time, but his hurt had dulled a little since her death all those years ago.

"Yeah, she was, she was" he nodded

"Ann-Marie Pierce" he whispered her name with such awe that Margaret had to turn to look at him. She saw his eyes swimming and instantly regretted opening her mouth.

"I'm-I'm sorry-"

"No, it's fine" he shrugged her apology off and swallowing, went on with what he was saying.

"She's pregnant with me in that picture…it's my favourite" he ran his fingers over the glass reminiscently and Margaret reached out, taking hold of his hand. She could feel the gentle tremors running through his fingers and rubbed the hand between hers affectionately. He looked up at her with more then a small amount of shock and he felt as if she was sending electric shocks up his arm. They stood just staring at each other for a moment, until the moment was broken by Daniel, who stuck his head around the door, telling them their breakfast would go cold if they didn't hurry.

_Until next time my faithful readers, and many thanks because without you I'd have no reason to write._


	5. Dying hearts and syrupy pancakes

_Yeah, I know I took about five years to churn this one out, I am very sorry about that. I really do enjoy writing this piece, but sometimes I get so caught up in the stress of VCE that I forget about it and, as you can see, leave months between updates. I am eternally sorry, anyway I hope that hasn't deterred you from reading and reviewing..._

_Yeah, I wish I owned them..._

* * *

Margaret found herself quashing the urge to physically shake herself. Swallowing hard, she untangled her fingers from Hawkeye's and turned slowly towards the kitchen. She ducked inside, Hawkeye's hand on her lower back to lead her in. She smiled openly at the Pierce kitchen. It was exactly how she imagined it would be, as if someone had poured honey over the windows and all of the light was dappled in the sweet syrup. The walls were yellow and warm; the bench top a worn wood with a thin lacquer. She imagined Hawkeye painting the small red and blue flowers that ran around the walls, his mother deftly aiding her small son with the tricky stems and the lush leaves of the vine. A flash of Hawkeye with tears in his eyes and gulping back the sorrow came to her and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her again. The last thing she needed at a time like this was to feel even more guilt towards Hawkeye. Sighing she closed her eyes momentarily, forcing her anxious feelings down.

"Are you alright Margaret?" Hawkeye's concerned eyes swam into view as she opened her eyes, which she was surprised to find were shining with tears.

"Y-yes" she nodded earnestly,

"Hormones" she laughed shakily, hoping the blue eyed doctor would buy her excuse.

"Ah, the troubles of producing a minor" he laughed to himself. Margaret smiled and turned to Daniel, who was standing, bent over the stove top.

"Mr-Daniel, do you need a hand with breakfast? Is there anything I can do-?"

"Never! Margaret, you're a guest. A member of Hawk's 4007th family. From what he's told me, I get the idea he wouldn't have survived without you in Korea. It would be my pleasure to cook you breakfast, anything for Ben's Margaret" Daniel smiled, winking at her cheekily.

"Thanks Dad" Hawkeye groaned and Margaret could swear she saw a blush rising in his cheeks. Benjamin Franklin Pierce blushing, she never thought she'd see the day.

"Well the pancakes are ready, eat up" Daniel urged, motioning towards the food laden kitchen table. Margaret's stomach involuntarily growled loudly, having just been emptied previously. Hawkeye grinned and held a chair out for her.

"Miss Mah-garet" he bowed low,

"Please, do be seated before that lovely belly of yours attempts to eat itself," she rolled her eyes, but complied. Sitting down, she picked up a napkin and place dit across her lap as he took to seat across from her. Before she could serve for herself, he had passed her a plate piled high with pancakes, smothered in maple syrup. Margaret took it gratefully and took and indulgent moment to look into those blue eyes again, something she'd sparsely been doing for fear he'd see right through her and realise why she was really there. Swallowing hard she noticed how much older they seemed than they first did when she'd originally met him in Korea. Back then he had audaciously called her Major Baby, something that had succeeded in boiling her blood. She could've kicked herself for being such a stick in the mud back then, but that was before she had realised that Frank Burns was a colossal cretin and it was long before Hawkeye had succeeded in crashing down her many walls and pulled out the reluctant Margaret Houlihan inside. Hawkeye was one of the few people to meet Margaret Houlihan; many had met Major Houlihan, the cold woman who expected the impossibly impeccable and nothing less. There were also many who had met Hotlips Houlihan, the passionate woman who was desperately searching for the man who could steal her heart, but who only ever found men who wanted to steal her panties. She knew neither of these people were people to be proud of, but for a long time they were a part of her and at times she found herself slipping back into their shoes. She found herself regaining that old glint in her eyes around the nurses she used to work with when she first got stateside and even worse she found that undeniable rush when a powerful General looked her way on the army base. Even when she had remarried Donald she couldn't find a way to curb her lust for clusters and more. Hawkeye Pierce, the one and only man she had even imagined letting into her heart. The one and only man she refused to let do so until she was sure he wouldn't accidentally break it along the way. She couldn't imagine him doing it on purpose, deliberately going out of his way to stomp all over her feelings, but she could envision him falling into old habits and one night, after a long shift, falling into the warm arms of a willing nurse in the on call room instead of coming home to her and their child. He wouldn't mean it and he would try his hardest to make up for what he had done, but Margaret knew that she wouldn't not be able to deal with the pain, it would just be too much, no matter how hard he tried. She pictured him bending down over her broken heart, sutures in one hand and a needle in the other, ready and willing to fix the problem; she was absolutely sure she would flat line though.

Flat lining, she remembered that he had made her flat line once before.

* * *

It was one night in Korea, a rather important night actually. The night their child was conceived to be exact. She remembered that night more clearly than anything else that had occurred in her life, she remembered that night more clearly than her wedding night, something she considered laughable now. It had been a regular day at the 4077th; a severe shortage of patients, which came along with a severe shortage of entertainment. She remembered lying on her bed most of the day, acting very unMajorly. She could even remember the headline on the newspaper she was reading, a month-old copy of a Crabapple Cove paper; "Bottomless Gut Garranza Out-Eats The Yearly Sausage-Out: Eddie Garranza asks for more at the annual sausage eating competition," she'd laughed a full five minutes it was so ridiculous.

Hawkeye Pierce had just finished his Post Op duties and was heading back to the Swamp, feeling uncharacteristically restless. He could still smell the disinfectant on his clothes and was almost sure that it was infused into his skin. He was just wondering what he was going to do about his pent up energy when Major M. Houlihan's tent came into view. Smiling devilishly, he changed course from the Swamp to Margaret's tent.

Where Post Op had smelt decidedly sterile and foreboding, Margaret's room had it's own scent, Margaret had her own scent. It was a mix of lavender and something sweet that Hawkeye just couldn't put his finger on. Her door was open slightly and the scent wafted out, just faintly, but enough for someone who had become so accustomed to it to smell. He could smell it in his room too. Implanted in his memory and fresh on his pillow. She'd told him she used lavender to get to sleep at night. This was something she'd found hard to do at first arrived at Korea, not because of noisy bomb droppings or ammunition popping, they were thankfully few and far between around the camp, but rather the almost suffocating silence of the absence of such noises. It was unnerving to say the least and the scent of lavender always seemed to placate her. Hawkeye hated to admit it, but it was that scent that had eased him off the sleep for the past few months as well. A scent that once gone had to be immediately renewed or he found sleep unattainable. Sighing to himself, Hawkeye swung open the door to Margaret's tent. Tripping over a haphazard pile of clothes, he tripped landing with a heavy thump, he roused the woman from a fitful bout of sleep.

"Uhn.." she murmured, sitting up swiftly.

"I'm awake Colonel, I swear!" she cried, her voice thick with sleep. When her gaze fell on the wiry doctor her expression softened,

"Oh, it's you." Hawkeye nodded, not trusting himself to speak and crossed the small room in a few steps, he bent down and swept Margaret up, almost cradling her as he leant her backwards and kissed her. It was a rough kiss, yet there was such a gentle nature behind it, almost soft and needy, that Margaret felt her knees go weak. Reaching blindly behind herself, she pulled at the cord for the tent flaps and they closed with a swift bang. In sequence with the falling flaps, they fell back onto the bed and Hawkeye marveled in how strong the scent was here, thick and heady. Gulping he pulled at her pants, trying to literally rip them off, a hard feat seeing as they were decidedly tight.

"Why do you wear these short things so Goddamn tight?" he choked out.

"Because you like 'em that way" she answered in a husky voice. He couldn't help but smile at her lazy Jersey lilt, only evident when she was exhausted, or desperate to get into his pants.

"Here" she flicked open the belt in a simple movement, then proceeded to slip them off her hips in a wiggling motion, while also removing his belt at the same time. Hawkeye was leaving a trail of hot kisses along her collar bone, softly sucking at the skin and slowly driving his occasional lover crazy. Hawkeye sat back and removed one of his infamous Hawaiian shirts while watching her, she was dressed haphazardly in what appeared to be the only clean regulation t-shirt he owned and his favourite pair of boxer shorts, he'd been wondering where they'd gotten to. She smiled at him as was about to pull him on top of her again, when her record player chose that moment to emit an ear splitting screech. Jumping up, she dived across the room and lifted the needle, placing it down gently again. Soft and sonorous saxophone music was emitted, a soulful sound that oozed sex appeal. Margaret's hips swayed to the beat in an almost hypnotic way, Hawkeye seemed mesmerised. He watched as she made figure eights with those perfectly sculpted curves and bit his lip to keep his tongue from lolling out in raw lust. She was looking particularly alluring, there was something so soft about her, so unabashedly sexy.

"Get!" he growled and she turned to look at him, lying in the bed. He had such a rustic sense about him, so down devilish and lacking more than a few regulation standards, yet she knew she couldn't deny what she felt for him. He was dressed only in the bed sheets now, having crawled in as she saved her record, and from the look in his eyes, she could tell he wanted her equally clothed. Smiling knowingly, she made her way towards the bed and just as she reached him, kneeling on the thin mattress and looking down over him, a chopper whipped overhead.

"Argh!" he cried in frustration, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her on top of him.

"Pierce!" she laughed, pulling away, but he held her steadfast.

"Come on, we've got to go" she shook her head and rolled her eyes at his attempts to lower the boxer shorts.

"Hawkeye!" she pulled back,

"You know I want to do this as much as you do, but if we don't get up there and ready soon, the Colonel drag us in there. As you're not wearing a stitch, I would think you'd want to get something on before that happens-"

"Hawkeye! Get out here!" came the call from outside and Margaret sighed.

"See? Now how am I going to get you out of here without anyone noticing?"

"Yeah, yeah" Hawkeye grumbled, pulling himself up and walking over to her closet. Margaret smiled, stretching back on the bed and enjoying the view.

"Now you wouldn't be checking me over there would you?" he asked, not turning back.

"No, that would be blatantly taking advantage of you, I would never do such a thing" she answered _dreadfully_ truthfully.

"Yeah right" he rolled his eyes, turning to face her as he zipped up his pants.

"Hey, going free are we?" she asked.

"Well, you are wearing my favourite underwear there...been keeping them hostage, huh?" he asked, shrugging.

"Not really, you've got more of your clothes in here then you do in your own bunk" she shrugged. He opened his mouth to oppose this, but remembered that he had just pulled his pants from her closet. He then began to dig through the pile of t-shirts on the floor, looking for a suitably clean one to wear.

"Here, this one" Margaret threw him the Hawaiian shirt,

"It's my favourite" she murmured.

"Hawkeye, get on up here, _now!!_" came the impatient yell from outside.

"I'm on me way Colonel!" Jayne yelled back,

"But not before I do this" he crossed the room in two lengthy steps and swept Margaret up into his arms. Ducking down, he covered her lips with his and kissed her with so much power and passion that she began to melt in his arms. When she was almost completely limp, resting on the leg he'd pushed between her thighs, he pulled back. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. He stepped back and she lowered herself to sit on the bed.

"Now, that's not fair" she breathed, running her hand over her lips,

"That is not fair"

Later that night they met in more ways than one day, it had resulted in all that was to follow. It was the cause of her remarrying Donald, her fleeing Hawkeye for so long, her spirit and heart dying for some time. She did not blame the child, not in the slightest, he had never met the little being and already she loved him or her, as amazing as it seemed, but it was the conception of this child that had caused the loss of Margaret Jane Houlihan. There were a couple of missing signs posted on her heart, just in case the fiery, passionate woman decided to return one day. She actually missed the person Hawkeye had turned her into and although she was regaining herself inside the old Pierce homestead it wasn't the same, not yet.

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_Read and Review my lovelies…please?!_


	6. Captain Tuttle and refried boots

_Your reviews were all lovely and I'm so excited, I'm nearing 2000 hits!! I couldn't be happier. A special thanks to RoseLight I absolutely love your reviews, you seem to put so much thought into them. I'm a more sporadic reviewer and find myself being somewhat lazy about them, but your constructive criticism and positive assurances make me feel all warm and fuzzy every time I read them. I also enjoy your analytical stance on my story, that someone would take the time to pick apart the idiosyncrasies and references that I place in each chapter in hopes someone will notices them is very flattering. Of course thank-you to everyone else who took the time to review the last chapter seeing as I took so long to update. Thankyou ascii27, MargaretAndHawkeye4Ever, Mrs-Tuttle/MajorBaby, __petiteshmooette-4077__celticmaggie4077__ and HM4077._

_I don't MASH, I just wish I did._

* * *

_Margaret actually missed the person Hawkeye had turned her into and although she was regaining herself inside the old Pierce homestead it wasn't the same, not yet…  
_

Margaret swallowed hard, pulling herself back to reality. She took a moment to remember that she was seated at the Pierce family kitchen table and not lying in the lavender scented tent back in Korea. Before her sat a concerned looking Hawkeye.

"Are you alright Margaret? You drifted away for a while there" his eyes were full of concern. Those blue orbs of emotion with their full attention focused on her, it was almost too much to take.

"Sure, sorry. I was just reminiscing…or the opposite of reminiscing. I was thinking of the food in Korea, it was no where near as delicious as this spread," she gestured to the food laden table. It was almost groaning under the weight of all the plates and Daniel was still whipping up the bacon behind them.

"I cannot believe you still insist on calling that disgusting mess back in Korea food. I am still convinced that it was refried army boot" Hawkeye shook his head, his smile taking on a definite crookedness.

"You always were a conspiracy theorist though Pierce" Margaret quipped in response, her own grin taking on an air of cheekiness. Hawkeye marvelled at the relaxed nature of their conversation. He had rarely seen her like this in Korea. There were the few times when in the presence of only each other that she had let go and relaxed. The instance involving sulfa and digitalis came to mind. He had never seen Margaret laugh so hard, except for that one time Frank had been K.Oed while refereeing a boxing match between Klinger and Zale. They'd just been enjoying each other's sense of humour, Hawkeye noting that someone had been playing with Margaret's funny bone and he had liked it. That night he had finally met Margaret Houlihan and just as quickly as she'd appeared, she disappeared. He could've strangled Kelley that night, she had chosen just the right time to walk into the storage room, that was until he realised that it wasn't Kelley's fault Margaret had clammed up at her entrance, it wasn't Kelley's fault at all. Margaret was a hurt little girl under all of her bravado and Hawkeye partly blamed himself for that. He blamed Frank Burns, Howitzer Houlihan, every General in the army, Donad Penobscott, Sgt. Scully and even regulation boots for the Margaret behaved as well, but he knew he had his own contribution to her cold nature. It was his constant ribbing of her, thousands of small put downs and even the millions of sexual innuendos he'd presented her with that had resulted in the development of Major Margaret Houlihan. He was sorry for that more than anything else.

"Far from it Margaret. I didn't need conspiracy theories, I had the army and it's infinite insanity to present me with more than a few otherwise unbelievable truths."

"Oh yes. But then what is your excuse for Captain Tuttle?" Margaret asked nonchalantly, popping a piece of pancake into her mouth.

"Tuttle? Did you say Tuttle?" Daniel turned around to face the old army compatriots.

"Why yes I did" Margaret grinned devilishly, she felt a little juvenile, dobbing Hawkeye in to his father but she could feel the on set of something deliciously embarrassing for her blue-eyed friend.

"Now Dad, Margaret-" Hawkeye looked between the two, feeling the mischievous tension rising in the room.

"Hawkeye's childhood friend who no one could see but got up to his fair share of trouble" Daniel laughed.

"Do you know I once found writing on the walls in the hall. Scrawled all over the wall paper in red crayon was Hawkeye's name, he was just learning how to write at school. Of course my temper reached boiling point and when I asked Hawkeye what he was doing he promptly told me Tuttle had done it. Tuttle had allegedly signed Hawkeye's name all over our walls, it took me hours to clean off" Daniel shook his head.

"I never said Tuttle was a foolproof invention-"

"Well Tuttle got up to his fair share of mischief in Korea as well. An honourable man he was, giving his monthly pay to Sister Theresa's orphanage, he made quite a few friends at the old 4077th. I myself even thought of him as dashing, with his auburn curls and hazel eyes. Poor man, jumped out a plane one day, attempting to aid someone fallen soldiers in the field of battle, sadly he left behind his parachute" Margaret laughed.

"Quiet a noble man that Tuttle" Hawkeye agreed solemnly. Than realisation hit him,

"Margaret as far as you knew, Tuttle's last act _was_ jumping from a plane without a parachute. When did you discover he was in fact bodily challenged?" Hawkeye demanded. Grinning, Margaret shook her head, her golden curls flying. Hawkeye grinned back, smiling at the fact that Margaret had long ago abandoned her bleach and had settled for her natural dark blonde locks.

"Come on Margaret, tell me" he pushed, poking her arm gently.

"Well, lets just say that I had my doubts to begin with. No man is that perfect, not even you Pierce" she cut Hawkeye before he could say anything,

"That and Radar was never very good at keeping a secret under interrogation" she shrugged.

"You didn't! Poor Radar…" Hawkeye sighed, lamenting.

"Oh he was okay. He just valued that horrible grape concoction more than he did keeping Tuttle's blemish free virtue in tact" she laughed.

"Bribery, I never would've expected something so debonair from you Margaret" Hawkeye said, playing at being shocked.

"There's a lot you don't know about me Pierce" Margaret countered, raising her eyebrows knowingly at him over her glass of orange juice.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes, really." It was truer than Hawkeye realised. He was right; he did play a part in reinforcing the growth of Major Houlihan. As much as he had succeeded in breaking down her many barriers, he was just as guilty for imbedding a sense of uncertainty within her heart. Her fears of his breaking her heart made sure she was reserved around him more often than she was open around him. She remembered getting into the jeep the day she had left the camp, if she weren't so sure he would balk at an invitation to meet up back in the states, she never would've gotten into that goddamn vehicle. God, she'd tried so many times to write to him and tell him the truth, she knew she'd never be able to stomach calling him…but than again, here she was after all this time, sitting in his kitchen contemplating telling him that he was the father of her child, so what did she know of her own strength?

Sighing, she pushed her chair back and stood slowly.

"Where're you going?" Hawkeye asked, a level of anxiety obvious in his voice.

"Just to the bathroom Pierce, don't worry, I'm not disappearing. Maybe after this you can take me for a walk around town, introduce me to the marvellous Crabapple Cove you spent so much time talking about in Korea?" she suggested.

"Of course Margaret, it'd be my honour. I just hope the other men don't get to jealous of me, taking a beautiful woman like you around town…oh, the rumour mill will go into overdrive" he sighed melodramatically.

"Pierce I'm pregnant, I'm as big as a house, what on earth are you talking about?!" she cried.

"Margaret you are the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, pregnant or not" Hawkeye answered, deadly serious. Margaret swallowed hard, shivering under the intensity of his gaze; she just nodded and turned on her heel, fleeing the room. Once in the bathroom, she flattened herself against he wall, not once had Donald referred to her as beautiful when her belly had started to grow. Quite the opposite actually, he'd almost started to avoid her…to be complimented so sincerely, by Hawkeye of all people, it made her head spin and brought back the familiar scent of lavender.

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_Okay guys, I updated quickly…well for me that is. I just want to say thanks for the reviews again and that reviewer number fifty will receive an extra big virtual hug from me. Now, now calm down there's plenty of Psychodramaqueen to go around, lol. _


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